


A Masterpiece Can Be a Person

by MellytheHun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Art, Artist Derek, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Donation fic, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance, Scott is a Good Friend, Teaching, if Detentions count
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 06:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11731443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Sterek Prompt: You sit next to me in class and just doodle the class away. Teach me? & You’re left-handed and you keep bumping my arm when writing.





	A Masterpiece Can Be a Person

**Author's Note:**

> This is a donation fic, funded by book-answers of Tumblr who has been extremely sweet and very patient with me! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I'm really struggling right now and any/all donations are really, immensely helpful and you can donate towards series or fics if you like - just leave a note about which one you'd like the donation to go towards at paypal.me/loserchildhotpants
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have donated thus far and thank you, in advance, to any of you that plan to in the future! It means the world to me!

“Sorry.”

Stiles grumbles something incoherent back at Derek for what feels like the eighteenth time in only half an hour because he knows Derek doesn’t _mean_ to bump elbows with him _every five seconds_ and if Derek’s arms weren’t so big already, Stiles would have enough room to scoot away – it’s just that this happens _all the time_ and Stiles isn’t exactly renowned for his unending patience and saint-like understanding.

Aside from making him suspicious of witchcraft, Stiles has never had anything against left-handed people – he’s not nearly as suspicious of lefties as he is of ambidextrous people, anyway. And Derek seems like a nice enough guy – a little grumpy in the morning, maybe, but who isn’t?

Well, he’s also grumpy in the afternoons.

And as far as Stiles can tell, night time as well.

Whatever – the point is, Stiles doesn’t really have a personal grudge against Derek Hale, but if that elbow touches him one more time –

“Sorry.”

“ _Oh_ my God, I might kill you.”

Derek stares at him in that dry way he stares at everyone and he mumbles, as if Stiles hadn’t heard him, “I apologized.”

“Yeah, but you – with your – why don’t you ever request to sit next to someone whose elbow you _won’t_ bruise?”

This has been an option for a long while – people have been changing seats in Earth Science since the start of the school year. Their teacher is pretty lax about it all. Stiles doesn’t have anything against Derek, though and he didn’t want to offend Derek by asking for another seat for no apparent reason. Derek Hale is very Mr. Darcy-esque; “once [his] good opinion is lost, it is lost forever,” type deal. And, frankly, it’s really strange that Stiles has managed to stay on his good side this long, anyway.

A more selfish part of Stiles is also a little proud to be sitting next to Derek Hale – he knows how badly his seat is coveted because anyone with functioning eyeballs and a healthy libido wants a seat next to Derek Hale.

Stiles has both, as it turns out.

“I don’t want to sit next to anyone else.”

Blushing, Stiles stares sort of wide-eyed at Derek, trying to suss out the joke.

There isn’t one, apparently.

Derek is entirely serious.

Like he usually is.

Stiles is actually fairly certain that Derek’s been deadly-serious his entire life.

“Oh,” Stiles replies dumbly, unsure what to do.

Maintaining eye-contact is sort of difficult, so he drops his stare and his eyes traipse down to Derek’s paper. At what he sees, his jaw drops, his eyes go wide and he points at the looseleaf, proclaiming, “that’s Mrs. Lotter! Oh, man – and that’s Boyd! That’s _Boyd_! Dude, you’ve been _drawing_ this whole time?”

Even if Derek doesn’t answer at all, Stiles can see that’s what he’s been doing – there are absolutely no notes on that paper and with the shading that’s going on in those drawings, suddenly Derek’s repetitive elbow-movements make a lot more sense.

He smiles broadly, able to look at Derek’s face again and he asks, “how did you learn to do that?”

If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d say Derek was blushing, but Derek’s face only knows how to be totally still or slightly to immensely irritated. Anything so sweet or communicative as blushing can’t happen on a face like Derek’s because Derek’s face doesn’t allow for it. At least, that’s what the data shows.

Eloquent as ever, Derek shrugs and looks away and seems content to leave it at that.

To show his dismay at this under-reaction, Stiles shoves at Derek’s shoulder playfully and when Derek looks at him again, there’s a sort of defensive shade to it. Stiles’ grin falls and he worries he’s offended Derek, but he isn’t sure how. The drawings are incredible – he’s only ever seen people draw in cartoon styles and he really likes manga and comic books, but he’s never seen realism like what Derek’s able to do.

It occurs to Stiles, then, that Derek didn’t intend for Stiles to see the drawings and – although it’s not an emotion he associates with Derek Hale – it’s very possible that Derek’s _embarrassed_.

Which is criminal, because he’s insanely talented.

“Do… people know that you draw?”

Derek shakes his head and Stiles tilts his.

“Do you… I mean, are you not okay with people knowing about it?”

At that, Derek half-shrugs and starts rubbing the back of his neck nervously, looking down at the table.

Stiles has no idea what that means.

“Uhm… I’m sorry. If I was – you know, if I was like… calling you out or something. I didn’t mean to. I don’t mean to, anyway. I’m just surprised – I think it’s rad. I always thought realism would be boring, but actually seeing it done is pretty incredible. Those look like photographs,” Stiles compliments.

“Don’t let that fool you – realism _is_ boring.”

Stiles smirks, glad to have Derek talking and he asks, “if it’s so boring, why do you do it?”

“Getting _good_ at realism is boring,” Derek corrects, dropping his arm, but still looking uncertain, “It’s not… it’s just a lot of drawing shapes. It’s like doing geometry of your own free will, in your free time.”

“Now, that’s repulsive,” Stiles jokes, “Recreational math is an oxymoron.”

With a shy smile just growing, Derek shrugs again – something Stiles is starting to recognize as a nervous tic – and he adds, “well, understanding basic geometric shapes is all drawing really is – the rest is flourishing. Understanding angling is important too, though, if you wanna, you know… know where to put shadows.”

_That_ makes Stiles laugh – he knows Derek is being serious and actually imparting some artistic wisdom, but his delivery is so _dry_. It’s good – talking to Derek like this. He always thought of Derek as unapproachable and it’s nice to know he’s like everyone else – just as nervous and with possibly fewer social skill sets than most of them have.

“Shadows seem sorta important.”

“Sorta,” Derek agrees, his cheeks definitely pinkish now.

Stiles grins, leans in closer and asks, “so, are you in the A.P art class?”

“Are you kidding?” Derek asks rhetorically, “My sister took A.P art and she literally has premature grey hairs from it.”

“Yikes,” Stiles chuckles, “So… do you take any art classes at all?”

Derek shakes his head and Stiles wonders at him openly, inquiring, “why not?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but I’m not super at interactive activities.”

When he breaks and laughs, Stiles actually snorts and that’s enough to make Derek fucking _smile_ , _finally_ and so, of course, that’s when their teacher decides to notice them.

“Stilinski, Hale – something very entertaining about the density of minerals that we should all know about?”

Almost immediately, Derek snaps his notebook shut. It’s easy to surmise that Derek thinks Stiles might say something obnoxious like ‘Derek was showing me his drawings,’ or something along those lines and Stiles would be offended at Derek’s little faith in him if he weren’t more worried about keeping Derek’s secret safe.

As per usual, Derek doesn’t even deign to answer the teacher at all and Stiles’ laughter pitters out into a short coughing fit until he can tell Mrs. Lotter, “nope – _ahem_ – no, no, Mrs. Lotter, nothing entertaining about anything whatsoever. Just being immature – you know me.”

“What about rocks could possibly test your maturity levels, Mr. Stilinski?” Mrs. Lotter asks in skeptical aggravation.

Stiles glances sideways at Derek, who proves entirely unhelpful, then he looks back at Mrs. Lotter and stammers out, “I – we’re just – uhm – rocks are – they, uh – they… have cleavage?”

The class turns into murmurs, rolling eyes and capped laughter and Mrs. Lotter looks pretty _done_ with Stiles, but she always looks that way. Most teachers look that way, at Stiles, actually. He does his best to smile at her to diffuse the situation and that earns him a scathing glare.

“Fine,” she grumbles angrily, “You’ll be cleaning the lab after school for the next week and you can giggle all you like there.”

About to object to the injustice of killing his buzz, Stiles opens his mouth, but is quickly interrupted by Derek.

“That’s not fair. We were both talking. Put me in charge of cleaning the lab too or let him off the hook.”

Stiles isn’t the only person to look at Derek in amazement – not that Derek looks anywhere outside Mrs. Lotter’s stern glare to appreciate his audience.

Mrs. Lotter looks appropriately astonished that Derek has spoken, but she’s extremely disapproving.

“Mr. Hale,” she starts with a warning in her tone, “you have perfect attendance and no blemishes on your record. Are you quite sure you want to start down the same track Stilinski has been hogging the past three years?”

“Now that’s just rude,” Stiles mumbles toward Derek, “I haven’t hogged detentions at all, I’ve been perfectly willing to share.”

Derek chokes down a reluctant laugh and Stiles purses his lips to keep from smiling – it’s a nice ego boost, knowing the most un-smiley guy this side of the equator thinks he’s too funny to not laugh at.

He watches through the corner of his eye as Derek straightens in his seat and says seriously, “seeing that Stiles is easily the smartest person in this room, no, ma’am, I wouldn’t mind sharing his _track_. Besides, pretending like his difficulty in paying undivided attention to your class – a trait of an actual handicap you know he has – is something to punish him for isn’t going to stop him from being the top student in your class. Trying to liken his disability to delinquency isn’t going to endear you to anyone either. Is that enough to get me detention for the week, or should I mention how ugly a thing it is, you’re up to, giving him detention for no reason other than your wounded and misplaced sense of self-importance?”

So, Derek gets detention.

He walks in as soon as Stiles pulls out the broom from the closet and he drops his bag on the table, headed toward the white board to clear it of all its marker stains. Stiles watches him for a while, unsure of what to say.

Their Earth science class is early in the morning and word about Derek Hale sticking it to Mrs. Lotter on Stiles’ account has already found its way to Scott. Scott gave him a pouty, dubious look when he approached Stiles about it over lunch. He’s never been a fan of the Hale family – they’ve always sorta “creeped [him] out.” Which Stiles thinks is pretty unfair. They’re all very good-looking people and it’s a big family – loads of kids in that house.

And to be really fair, the only ‘creepy,’ thing about the Hales _is_ their house. And it’s not even the house that’s the problem, it’s that they live in the _woods_. To each their own, though.

The silence is a bit too much to bear and Stiles has to break it – he’s always had that problem. Charged silences make him too uncomfortable. He stills his sweeping and looks to Derek’s profile, watching his arms move across the board and strain to reach the very top – it’s sorta cute.

“You really didn’t have to do all that, you know,” Stiles says – he doesn’t mean to sound ungrateful – in fact, he’s pretty flustered over the whole thing.

Not just because Derek Hale barely speaks at all, never mind so much in one go for the sake of someone else and not because it was for _his_ sake, but because _no one’s_ ever done that before. No one’s ever said that if he’s getting put on the chopping block, they’d like to be put there too. No one’s ever volunteered to be punished because it’s where they want to be – not because they’re masochists, but because they’d think of it as an injustice otherwise. An injustice towards Stiles.

He’s never had that happen – Scott has talked back at bullies for him the same way Stiles has for Scott and Stiles has stuck up for himself plenty of times. He’s learned not to push it when it comes to authoritative figures, though.

When a teacher is very obviously bullying him, he usually just ignores it and takes whatever they dole out for him. And he’s certainly never pointed the finger at someone else or even tattled on someone that could have deserved it.

Derek Hale seems fearless, though. Ready to point that accusing finger right at Mrs. Lotter and if he could look that old bat in the eye and (rightfully) condemn her for punishing Stiles for something he can’t help, Stiles thinks Derek could do just about anything.

Someone should get him a cape.

Or a t-shirt.

Or at least a #1 Something mug.

Something to commemorate his bravery.

“I know I didn’t,” Derek replies easily, “I wanted to. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“How will I know I’m worrying too much, then?” Stiles asks with a smirk.

Derek doesn’t look at him, but smirks shyly to himself when he mumbles his answer; “if you’re worrying at all.”

The sun sinks beyond the horizon while they work away and broad strokes of orange, yellow and red rays of light break through the venetian blinds, silhouetting them both as they move around, re-stack goggles, flasks and books and whatever else everyone’s left out for them. They dust, they sweep, they stack and restock and they both absolutely refuse to address the gum-stuck-under-the-desk issue.

When the evening's up and Stiles is packing up his stuff, getting ready to leave, he looks at Derek, standing by the whiteboard with a marker in hand. Derek’s drawn a very crude rendering of Mrs. Lotter making a rude gesture and all Stiles can think of is Professor Umbridge from the _Harry Potter_ series.

He says as much to Derek and Derek laughs again, looking proud and commenting softly, “well, they do have a sort of likeness to each other. Both are unbearably proud and give out detentions when they catch any scent of fun being had.”

Smiling and feeling light, Stiles is reluctant to say goodbye, even as they descend the steps to get to the ground floor and outside to the parking lot. That first detention goes by too quickly, really - and they barely even said a word to each other. Even silence, Stiles very quickly finds that he likes spending time with Derek and Derek – while not a great conversationalist – is kind company.

Before they part ways in the lot, Stiles turns to Derek and stammers, “hey – would uhm… next time we’re there, if we have time, after the cleaning and stuff, would you be up to… you know… like… teaching me? How to draw?”

Derek’s bold brows spring up and Stiles waves his arms in front of himself, worried he's offended Derek and now Derek will go back to giving him Resting Serial Killer Face. He scrambles to say, “I mean – you don’t have to – you know that already, though – of course you don't have to, I just – I mean, I didn’t want you to feel pressure or anything. I’m sure you hear that all the time, like people asking you to teach them how to draw or asking you to draw them and other obnoxious stuff and I don’t –"

“Yeah,” Derek intercepts lowly, quietly.

Stiles’ mouth stops running off without him and Derek smiles shyly again as he repeats, “yeah. I’d teach you, if you want. All it really takes is practice.”

“Perfect,” Stiles breathes out, wondering at how the fading sunlight bounces of Derek’s hair and lashes, “I, uh… that’s… that’s good. I’d like that.”

“Good,” Derek replies, then he turns his back and waves from over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Stiles.”

“See you tomorrow…” Stiles mutters, leaning against his Jeep and wishing tomorrow would just _be_ there already.


End file.
